


A Moonlight Mile Down the Road

by dynazty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sleepy Boys, Slice of Life, actually only one (1) sleepy boy, based on a tumblr prompt, late night convos potentially involving weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynazty/pseuds/dynazty
Summary: In which the city's too loud for Harry but the light of the moon looks quite nice on Draco's skin.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94
Collections: November 2020





	A Moonlight Mile Down the Road

**Author's Note:**

> original tumblr prompt can be found [here](https://drarrymicrofic.tumblr.com/post/635676017865981952/back-again-this-time-with-a-prompt-submitted-by), my original microfic [here](https://royaldynazty.tumblr.com/post/635694302434099200/obscure-microfic-the-porcelain-light-of-the-moon). the prompt word was "obscure".
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own; please leave feedback if you so desire!
> 
> title comes from the song "moonlight mile" by the rolling stones. enjoy, loves :)

The porcelain light of the moon is obscured by a wispy onslaught of clouds, half-hearted and lethargic in their crawl across the leaden sky. Taillights of fatigued taxis reflect shifting red and white shapes on the window panes.

Cool hands slide around Harry’s sides; a sharp chin rests on his shoulder. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks softly as the muted smell of citrus folds in around him.

“Yes,” Draco hums in his ear, voice low in the still hours of morning. “Prat.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he agrees, leaning back into the bleeding warmth of Draco’s embrace. “I’m not.”

Outside, the clouds waver and a chipped corner of the pearl-white moon spills into view. A car honks in the distance. 

“It’s too loud here,” he adds a long moment later. 

“You’ve said before,” Draco says, voice muffled with bleary sleep. “Is that why you’re up?” 

A slight nod. “Part of it.”

“Mm.” Draco shifts and brings a hand up to kiss Harry’s jaw with his knuckles. Gentle; absent. “I’ll tell you what,” he starts, his breath warm on Harry’s neck. Harry wants to melt into him. “After tomorrow, when all the papers have been signed and all the champagne glasses have been picked up, we can go look at places.”

“Places?” 

“Places,” Draco confirms. “Quiet places. Places with no loud cars or taxis. Places where you can sleep.”

“You mean houses?”

Draco’s fingers unfurl and he places two under the crook of Harry’s jaw, guiding his head sideways so their gazes can meet. Equally glassy, equally dilated. “I mean homes,” he says, so quiet that Harry wonders if he’s imagined it. 

“Oh,” is all he has time to say before he’s arching up to meet Draco in the middle, fire unfurling in his chest and catching his ribs, his spine. Draco is pliant and slow, arms tightening around Harry’s middle. 

“Come to bed,” he says after breaking away and landing delicate kisses on the corners of Harry’s mouth, his smile lines, the space between his eyebrows. Harry lets him, content to lean back and lose himself in the warmth and familiarity of it all. The homeliness.

“Do I have to?” he asks, unwilling to move from Draco’s arms. 

“It’s nearly three.” 

“So?” 

Draco pinches his ear lightly, lovingly. Harry wonders how he got here. “We have to get up tomorrow at six for the Portkey, and while I don’t fancy dragging you there by your feet, I will if I must.”

Harry whines faintly and buries his nose into Draco’s collarbone. His glasses knock against his forehead uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care. “Who the fuck scheduled that again?” 

“Pansy. She wanted to be sure we’d have as much time in the morning to get ready as possible.” 

“God,” Harry grumbles. “That woman has been after me since day one. Why did we let her coordinate this?” 

“Because she has more organization skills and taste in one fingernail than you have in your entire body,” Draco says matter-of-factly, brushing a hand through the curls at the back of Harry’s neck. 

Harry lifts his head and glares at Draco’s sleek, Cheshire smile. His skin is glowing slightly in the pool of pale, mottled light streaming through the bedroom window. “That must be why I’m marrying you, then.” 

The smile widens. “That’s precisely why.” 

Another car honks outside, and Harry looks away. Back out the window. The watery clouds have completely cleared now, leaving behind an unobscured pearl of light that crowns the terraced rooftops of London like a piece of fine jewelry. Gibbous and full. 

Cold fingers tug at the hem of Harry’s thermal, brushing his hip bones ever-so-slightly. The graze of a metal engagement ring ghosts the skin of his stomach. “Come to bed.” 

Harry ignores him. “Tell me about our home,” he says instead, placing his hands over Draco’s. “Our new one without cars or taxis.” 

Draco sighs, airy and lackadaisical, but indulges Harry anyway. “What do you want to know?” 

“Tell me about what it looks like. Where it is.” 

“Okay,” says Draco. Harry can’t get enough of the tenor of his voice, the tangle of his accent so early in the morning. “It’s in the countryside. Scotland, maybe, or Ireland if you’d prefer. There are willow trees in the front yard and a long driveway that goes uphill, far away from the main road.” 

“Is there a fence?” 

Draco considers. “No, no fence. Just trees and grass and maybe some flowerbeds, if you ever learn how to garden.” 

Harry smiles. “And the house? Big or small?” 

“Small. Definitely small,” Draco answers. He turns his hands so he can lace his fingers through Harry’s. “But there are two floors. The first one has a kitchen with green cupboards, and a living room with a couch and a few armchairs for when the Weasleys visit. The second floor has a bedroom with tall windows and an en suite. With a bath.” 

“Clawed feet?” 

“Yes, clawed feet.” 

“And plants? The hanging kind?” 

“As many as you want. As long as you can keep them alive.” 

“I can.” 

“I know you can.” 

Harry brings their clasped hands up and presses his mouth to them. “What else?” he asks, barely a whisper. 

Draco’s breath tickles the shell of his ear. “The bed won’t have a bed frame, because according to you they’re unnecessary. And there’ll be Dean’s artwork on the walls and Greg’s pottery on the shelves. And there will be books. Lots of them. In the corners and on the windowsills and under the covers.” 

“Hermione’s?” 

“Mine, too.” 

“Can we have a dog?” 

Draco laughs, mild. “No, I’m allergic. We can have a cat, though.” 

“What’s its name?” 

“Up to you.” 

Harry nods. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Good.” 

A beat passes, and the faint sound of music from a nightclub down the street floats up through the floorboards. Fills the space. 

“Is that all?” Harry asks into the not-silence. 

“Harry,” is Draco’s breathy reply.

“Yeah?”

“Come to bed. It’s late.” 

Unable to refuse him one more time, Harry acquiesces quietly and lets Draco pull him back towards the rumpled mattress in the center of the room. The navy-colored duvet looks black in the shadow of the night, spilling onto the creaky oak floors dramatically. 

“Our home sounds nice,” he says once he’s settled back between the linen sheets, glasses folded on the pile of books next to the mattress, knees bumping into Draco’s like they do every night. “I like it.”

Draco smiles at him, all warm and rumpled like the blankets. “Me too.” He rolls onto his side so one calf is hooked over Harry’s and their heads are on the same pillow. Noses an inch apart. Moonlight pooling over them. 

Harry can’t believe he’s here. 

“Will people be mad at us if they find out we spent the night together?” he asks offhandedly, reaching out to trace the dip of Draco’s temple. 

“I don’t know,” Draco replies, letting his eyes flutter shut, eyelashes barely a shade darker than his cheeks. “Molly might. She’s a stickler for tradition. Maybe Hermione.” 

“Nah, not ‘Mione.” Harry shakes his head even though Draco’s decided that looking at him is too exhausting a task to carry on. “She thinks wedding traditions are too heteronormative and commercialized.”

“Mm,” Draco mumbles into the pillow, incoherent. “Straight people.” 

“Straight people,” Harry agrees. He drops his hand and blinks weighted eyes at the ceiling above, the weathered boards above their bed white-washed and sagging towards the middle. “I think she and Ron spent the night before their ceremony together, though. So we’re not that radical.” 

Draco yawns, arm curling around Harry’s midsection reflexively, jaw clicking. “Too bad.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nods. His eyelids want to close, but he doesn’t let them. Doesn’t want to let them. Doesn’t want to let go of the warmth and the citrus and the moonlight just yet. “I don’t think Ron and ‘Mione count as regular straight people, though. They’re just— they just _happen_ to be straight, you know?” 

“Harry,” Draco says, eyes still closed. Fingers still curled into the fabric of Harry’s shirt. 

“Yeah?” 

“Please shut up, now.”

“Okay.” 

Draco moves so his head is tucked above Harry’s, encircling him so completely that he feels like he’s a hatchling being tucked under the wing of a bird. The lights from the city make patterns on the ceiling, and in the distance, the tires of a car screech. 

“Draco,” Harry says after a while, hoping that the other man hasn’t fallen asleep yet. 

“Yes?” 

“I know what to name our cat.” 

“Oh?” Draco asks, drowsy. 

Harry turns his head just slightly so he can see the window. The ivory light. The steel clouds. 

“Moony,” he says. 

Beside him, Draco’s lips tug up. He presses them to the crown of Harry's head. “Okay, Harry."

Later, when Harry finally manages to fall asleep, it's to thoughts of the morning dawning blue and beautiful. It's to the even breath of Draco in his ear. It's to the metal band around Draco's finger, gleaming amid the black, holding sweet, saccharine promises. It’s to patterns of moonlight playing on the backs of Harry's eyelids and car horns honking in the near distance, filling him up, making him whole.


End file.
